Rel Karrel
Or rather, the fairy tales that fairies tell. Every good fantasy has one unattainable location - hell, we in reality have several: Shangri-La, Shambhala, Camelot, El Dorado. But unlike Earth, the Legends verse doesn’t have Nathan Drake to run around discovering all of them for them, so instead, I’ll have to tell you. ''' '''Now, there are quite a few lost cities of great power. Though, Adarast isn’t so lost these days. But even when it was, no fabled city was as infamous as Rel Karrel. ((Okay, so a little backstory. When I said Rel Karrel was the fairy story the fairies tell, I wasn’t joking. Only one group seems to know anything about it.)) Orboren won’t admit it exists, but philosophers all unanimously agree that just going everywhere isn’t enough to become a legend, and… well, this is Rel Karrel we’re talking about, it would make sense. No. Ethirians know no tales about it, the dwarves have no songs, the angels couldn’t tell you, it is part of no Litch Lord’s dominion, and there isn’t a single ancient map in any dusty chest with Rel Karrel on it. No, all information about the city of names comes almost exclusively from one single source. ((Now, I was going to do a separate piece on the actual performing troupes of interest in the Web, but there’s one we have to talk about if we are going to do this right.)) The Court of Masks. This is important, that name, for reasons we are about to get into. So, let’s say you wanted to see this group perform. After all, they are reputed to be unimaginable. You will probably never see them perform. But let’s say you have never even heard of them. Then one night, a fog as thick as water may roll through your town. And as the sun sets, music. If followed, this will take you to the town or city square, wherein you will find a satyr dancing, and playing a strange instrument, wearing a mask. And he will not stop nor falter until many have gathered. Or perhaps only a handful. Or perhaps only you. In any case, when the right number of people appear, however many that may be, he will take his bow and turn to mist, and when he does, a great red curtain will appear, and brasiers will flicker to life. Taking a seat on grass or cobble, you will sit as the curtain rises, and the plays will begin. They will entertain for the full night, often many plays back to back. Two things will unite them. One, they all wear masks, and two, they are all arch fey. They will perform many plays. Some you will have heard of before, but never seen. And some, no living soul will have heard of. And always, once, they will perform a play, set in Rel Karrel. The thing is, no one knows what it is about. ONe of two things happens when you see this play. Either, the language is completely foreign to you, or you will not remember it at all. And so it was for ages. Until, once, just once, the Web got lucky. For at one such showing, Athm happened to be there. And he did the damnedest thing. He stood up and walked onto the stage, then into the scenery. He vanished behind the gates of Rel Karrel. It would be some time before Athm came back, but word traveled much faster. And before anyone could write a decent essay about why it was a bad idea, more people would walk onto the stage, to rows of clapping troupers in their strange, nonsensical tongue. See, while incomparably rare, some people were immune to Rel Karrel and its pull. Some - not all, but some - came back. Even more surprising, some came back sane. These said nothing of their time in the city, but would cry and sob tears of such great sorrow many poets came up with a name for the malady. The Unmaker’s Tears. ''' '''The mad were more than happy to share. But what they shared made no sense. They spoke of twelve gods, each terrible, each awful, but none evil. Not within the walls. One a great bird, one an eye clad in iron, made of thunder and flame, one a planet, a forest given shape, the shape of a woman, one an angel with eight wings ((I think you see where this is going.)) Many cryptologists saw the pattern. But it gets stranger. They claimed the city was the home of the fey, the mad, and the gods, the unborn, the seraphs and the entintein, the tainted and outsiders, and they lived… in harmony. If they lived there at all. This is a point of much contention, whether or not the city is actually populated by such creatures. But it is said to be the original home of the fey. Which is odd. Because they fey are not supposed to have one of those. They were made when Alara was knocked unconscious, and as he lay asleep in a forest, his mind leaked into it. That is supposed to be the feywild. They say the city is well guarded, and that the gods watch their city fiercely. And when Athm came back, he said “I know exactly what’s there, probably better than any other soul, but I would not be the first to tell you. I understand why you would brand them as insane, but no, they are merely those who share. Those who cry, know what they’re missing. There is treasure there, knowledge there. We are as great as the oldest races there; we are the greatness we can never become - but I digress. It would really suck if I had to spend my time in prison wouldn’t it? Don’t you worry, though. One day I will tell you. One day, when you can listen. I have it all written, right here, but I warn you - you open this before you are ready, it’s not just suicide, it’s genocide. You understand? I hardly trust myself with this, let alone a priest, or, heavens forbid, a librarian. No, with this, I’m afraid I must give it to the worst kind of person. I must give it to children, that perhaps it may be safe - this is how dire a strait I find myself in…” So he gave it to his daughter. It has remained in the family ever since. ''' '''The stories are so fragmented, no one fully understands the city of names, but for some reason, people seem drawn to the idea of it. thm spoke some of what he saw, here and there, and though none of it was recorded, there is a fire set in every explorer’s heart. The greatest treasure, it is is said, lies in Rel Karrel.